A gravel path
autumn worn
then
little white ghost
of paper blows
across not
unpurposed
to my ticking chain
and bird-delicate
alights
slow motion
waterfall brink
quick plunge
into gear train
to be teeth torn
but like
dying bee sting
explodes
the little
cage of wheels
wobble stop
and listen
trees
breeze
forces
you don't feel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Kinetic and vivid imagery unfolds like the ticking of a watch as life slows for a moment's observation. Nicely done.